Advent
by ctrl alt defeat
Summary: His life finally felt as if it was back on the right track. But as a familiar person turns up at his front door, Ethan can't help but wonder what sort of impact his sudden appearance will have.
1. Chapter One

**Title:** Advent

**Summary: **His life finally felt as if it was back on the right track. But as a familiar person turns up at his front door, Ethan can't help but wonder what sort of impact his sudden appearance will have. Change is supposed to be for the better, right?

**Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimers apply.

Lesson one: one should not attempt to type fanfiction at two in morning, let alone decide to submit anything. I think that's a fair warning, yes. :D I mean... lesson. With that being said, I'll apologize now for any and all injustice that I may cause, as well as for any abject lameness that might occur. Things will probably start off slow, though.

Set after the events of the game. Because that's unexplored territory at the moment. Oh yes, I went there.

PS. Do not like the formatting of this document manager. B|

* * *

The rain wasn't as oppressive as it used to be.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Ethan Mars could watch as the rain steadily peppered the windows without an overwhelming sense of dread. He no longer felt as if he had to count each and every drop, no longer felt as if the elements were fighting against him. No, for the first time in a long time, things felt relatively… normal.

Of course, that was as far from the truth as it could get. Things would never be considered normal again. The innocent façade of his perfect life had been fractured two years ago, and things had been barely on the mend when the trauma of the past month had caught up, making a normal life unnattainable, the very idea shattering into pieces.

A 'trauma'. That's all it was referred to these days. Tragic events that led to tragic outcomes.

Ethan preferred not to think about it, to push it to the farthest corner of his conscience. But there were always constant reminders, things that made reveling in the bliss of ignorance impossible. Everything came flooding back the moment he brushed his hand against the remainder of his butchered finger, everytime he caught a glimpse of children playing with harmless origami figures… everytime he looked into his son's eyes.

The blackouts. The nausea. The rain. All of it flooded back in a rush.

Shaun had been a mere ghost to him prior to the events, nothing but a shell. Finding him well, finding him _alive_, that was all Ethan could have asked for. However, the notable transition between his son's personality before and after had not gone unnoticed. It was disheartening to think about.

"Do you want your night light on, Shaun?" Ethan had asked once.

"No, dad, that's okay," Shaun replied, curling up a little under the blankets. It took him a moment before he finally continued, voice quiet, "I stopped looking for monsters under the bed."

"Why's that?" the question had left his mouth before Ethan could rethink his choice in words, feeling a little like an idiot as he leaned against the doorframe. Shaun's eyes never left his small study stable, half-folded pieces of paper littering the desk. After another pause, his hand had emerged from underneath the covers, resting atop where his heart would be located.

"Because they're in here."

Haunting. That was the only word to describe the look in Shaun's eyes that night. Shaun was a kid; he was supposed to be afraid of the dark, the Bogeyman and other figmented creatures, and it was Ethan's job to save him, protect him. As well as almost taking his life, the Origami Killer had promptly stolen Shaun's childhood. It was a pitiful feeling, to know that he could rescue his son from the clutches of death, yet the one thing he could not protect him from was reality.

The psychoanalyst assured him that his son was coping well with the stress and trauma, especially for someone at his age. They had called him 'stable' and said that he was 'on the mend'. There had been some reassurance in those words. That meant things could return to a state of normality, right? It meant they wouldn't have to pretend the horrific events never happened.

It meant they could just_ live_.

The incessant ticking of the clock hanging on the wall broke Ethan free of what seemed to be his permanent state of mind these days. His eyes moved from the rain-splattered windows to the clock, surprised that it read quarter to two. Time had really flown. Despite his previous train of thought, he smiled. In a half hour he would leave to pick up Shaun from school. He decided today that he would walk the distance to the school, rather than taking the car.

If the rain decided to let up, anyway. In the meantime, he had another half an hour to himself. Looking down at the sketch paper set up before him, Ethan was surprised that he hadn't so much as drawn a single line. Sighing, he set down the pencil he had been absently holding and pulled himself to his feet, shaking the stiffness from his legs. The blank canvas stared back at him bitterly, to which he just shook his head.

Amazed that he had even landed a job with all the media attention following him around, he had been actively avoiding producing any decent work. All his energy had been devoted to his son and not much else. It wasn't exactly the way he intended to restore his career as an architect, but it always seemed less important when put into perspective. _I'll start later,_ he always assured himself.

He never did.

The tapping of rain against the glass was almost a soothing symphony, carefully concealing the dismal underlying tones. Ethan crossed the apartment floor, soon ending up in the kitchen. He rested his palm on the fridge handle for a time, staring at his distorted reflection on the silvery surface. Aside from the rain, it was quiet.

And lonely.

With a grunt, he pulled the door open, carefully observing everything located inside the fridge. As he reached for an ever-present carton of orange juice, he made a mental note to pick up something up for dinner later in the evening. Pizza always seemed to be a popular choice. Stifling a yawn, Ethan pushed the door to a close and walked over to the dining table. He set his prize down before assuming a seat, skimming over a few articles located in the newspaper that had been left out.

The walls of text couldn't hold his attention for long. The words blurring before his eyes, he found himself thinking of Madison. The last time he had heard from her was a few days ago. She had been reluctant to divulge in the details of the story she was covering, but knowing her as he did, it was probably something 'out there'. He didn't devote any energy worrying over her safety. She had proved _many_ times that she was capable of looking after herself. The thought had caused a hint of a smile to appear on his lips, vanishing just as quickly.

Ethan pushed a hand through his dark hair then, resting his chin in his palm. He considered the newspaper for a while longer before reaching for the carton, shaking it some. He was about to remove the lid when a sharp knock at the door caused him to cease motion. It took all of three seconds for him to process what was happening, promptly replacing the orange juice back on the table.

His movements had been sluggish, alluding to the just how tired he was feeling, but he had eventually made it to the front door. A slight frown creased his brow as he reached for the door handle, wondering at who the visitor could be. Either his new home address had been leaked to the press or it was the old lady from downstairs back to offer more sugar cookies.

_Unless…_

A little too excitedly for his own liking, Ethan pulled the door open with more force than was necessary.

Needless to say, his expectations had fallen short. Disappointment was soon replaced with surprise as he looked the visitor up and down, the shock registering on his face as clear as day. They had met on only a few occasions, never for social reasons, but it was hard to misplace that face when he was being plastered all over the media as a modern day hero, though he was sceptical at first glance.

"Agent Jayden?" Ethan voiced aloud, leaning slightly on the door.

"Just Norman Jayden now. Mind if I intrude?" Jayden asked, fussing with his coat pockets. The way he spoke, it was almost as if it was normal for him to be standing right outside his apartment.

Although it had been posed as a question, Ethan had a feeling there was no yes-no about it. Something about the agent seemed off, resigned almost, as unflappable as he appeared at the moment. Against his initial suspicion, he decided he owed it to the agent. After all, without his help Shaun might be… _well._

Ethan moved out of the way, allowing room for the agent to pass through. Jayden nodded politely in his direction as the door was closed with a soft 'click', walking a ways into the room.

Ethan watched for a moment, still frowning as the agent began to observe a wall fixture he must have found interesting. He was still trying to wrap his head around the sudden appearance of the heroic agent, unable to reach a satisfying conclusion. Ethan folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, deciding to let him speak first.

But the first thing Ethan wanted to know was why on earth he was here.

The second thing was how the hell he got this address.


	2. Chapter Two

Reviews are so encouraging! Thank you, everyone. I'm glad this has been well received so far, and hope it continues to be. And yes, I do plan on continuing this. (: to the bitter end, if need be! ... hopefully it won't be bitter, though. I should also add that mystery-elements will be added sooner or later. The summary was very vague, so I apologize for that. Also also, I like to do perspective swaps each chapter. Hope that's not too bothersome. On with the show, then!

* * *

_"We can't afford any more mishaps."_

Those words had been like a disease, slowly eating away at his conscience. He was listening without really listening now, his face portraying perfect concentration while his mind was off elsewhere. The blinds had been drawn but his pale eyes had moved to the windows anyway, the sound of rain hitting the glass filtering into the small office.

Rain. It seemed to have followed him all the way back to Washington.

"_Jayden!_ Are you even listening?"

Norman had tore his eyes away from the blinds long enough to see the impatience register across the director's face. That was considered the first warning, a sign that he was already tip-toeing on thin ice.

"Sir," he began slowly, trying to formulate his words carefully. "I'm not entirely sure why you've called me up here. The investigation is going swell. An investigation I really should be getting back to."

"Sit down, agent Jayden," the director said, his voice commanding. Norman had no choice but to obey. "If you had been listening then you _would_ be sure of why you're here. This case has worn you out."

The nails in the coffin. Norman had heard those words before. In translation, they basically meant sit down and shut up, take everything with a smile. Restlessly, he began to listen this time as his boss tried to console him, reason with him, almost. The speech was very reminiscent of a father trying to tell his son that the family dog had to be put down because it was her time to rest. Because she was old.

_Worn out. _

"You're tired. Worn out. We're only asking that you take some time to recover your bearings. At this rate, you're causing more damage than help," the director's stern voice droned on and on. Norman felt his attention slipping, the room shifting to a faded sepia colour. Blinking rapidly, he sat up straighter in his seat and tried to focus on his boss's voice. "It's for your own benefit."

Norman resisted the urge to jump up there and then, to tell the director where he could shove his benefits. He refrained, however. An outburst of aggravation and unkempt emotions would only further prove his boss's point, and the last thing he needed was to give his superiors more reason to boot him off the case. Especially because most of their points were already valid.

Yes, he was tired. Yes, he was stressed. Yes, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a cave and never have to face the light of day again.

But it was okay. Everything was okay. He still had ARI, and he still had _help_. He could do this. He could.

"With all due respect, sir," Norman began, pressing his fingers together. There was a slight tremor in his hands, an edge to his voice, barely noticable. Lack of sleep. He passed it off as lack of sleep. "I don't think it's in your jurisdiction to tell me how I feel. Mind you, I'm feeling _fan_tastic. Now if you don't mind, I have an investigation to run."

That had meant to be the end of it, Norman now rising to his feet. He smoothed down his jacket and made to leave the office when the director's voice cut through him again, effectively freezing him in place.

"That wasn't a request, agent Jayden," the greying-haired man's voice was cold, sharp. Norman tipped his head so he could look down at his boss, but even so he still felt smaller as the director's iced-eyes looked up. "That was an order. As far as anyone else is concerned, you're already on temporary leave."

"What? No… You… you can't do this!" He couldn't help it. He'd already been pushed over the edge and there was no climbing back up now. "He is _out_ there, somewhere. If you think those people you're passing off as agents, who, by the way, can't tell which is way up most the time, are going to catch him without _my_ help, then you might as well--"

"You're trembling, Norman," the director cut him off calmly, not at all surprised at his outburst. No… no, of course not, he had probably been expecting it. He had been set up for this fall. "I guarantee you the investigation will go smoothly and when he apprehend the perpetrator, we'll be certain to give you credit where it's due."

Against all logic, Norman felt like laughing. Is that what this was all about? The FBI was already sick of their golden boy soaking up all their glory, always stealing the spotlight? This had nothing to do with his health or his best interests. They were afraid that if he fell, he would take the whole agency down with him.

"You're an excellent agent, but your behaviour lately has been erratic, Norman, and we really cannot afford any more… hindrances," the director must have caught the look on his face, now trying to offer a more solid reason for him to take time off. "I don't think I need to remind you. How are you handling the updated ARI, by the way?"

Ouch. The nails were driven in further. This was already a losing battle and after playing that card on the field, he had no hopes of coming out of this the victor. Ever since accepting to run the trial for the new model, they had been keeping a watchful eye on him and the way he handled it. Granted, it had not gone as… smoothly, as he would have liked. And he required a lot more help with this one.

But he could handle it. He could keep a lid on it. He could. He _would._

"Sir… I can do this," he was exasperated now, on the verge of pleading. "That was just one time. _One_ time. It was a small error in judgement, you can't reprimand me for making one mistake. You might as well fire the whole damn agency if that's the game you're going to play."

"Second mistake, agent Jayden. Your mind hasn't been all there lately so it's not surprising you've forgotten," The expression on the director's face was grim. Final. "Don't make me put this down on record, Norman. Just hand over your badge and leave quietly."

"You want my _badge_?" Norman asked with a mixture of shock and disbelief. This could not be happening. It was a dream, right?

"Having that badge enables you access to files that are, from now, restricted to members on the investigation team. I can't have you developing a messiah-complex thinking you can save the entire world just because you foiled _one_ serial killer and prevented the death of _one_ boy."

The perspective the director had on him hurt Norman somewhat, but he didn't allow the look to register on his face. He flexed his fingers by his side for a minute, scowling a bit as he finally reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving the small plastic slip. He dropped it onto the the table and made to leave for the third time that evening, stopped yet again by the harsh voice of his boss.

"And your ARI glasses."

_Of course._ If he wasn't allowed to have physical files, then he most definitely wasn't allowed to have synthetic data at his disposal. Norman had decided long ago that he was not dependent on ARI, that he was a good agent with or without the glasses. But as he reached for them, located on the inside of his jacket, he found himself hesitating. His fingertips were trembling now as they brushed against the sleek surface of the glasses, unable to proceed further. Unable to give them up.

Don't need them. Don't need them. _Don't._

The world flashed dull sepia again. Everything appeared suspended in time, washed over with a false light source. It hurt, it burned, it made him feel sick. Data, data, data. Everything was morphing into data, tiny particles of letters, numbers, going in and out of focus. The sensation was dizzying, the whole room appearing to shift like waves. Forcefully, Norman had to pull himself from the distorted reality.

When he regained composure, he noticed that the glasses had been dropped dejectedly onto the table, a movement he didn't remember making. A movement he was glad he made. He was better than that. So much better.

"You want my firearm while you're at it?" He asked, rather begrudgingly. There was no trace on his features, no hint in his voice that he had just suffered another episode.

"Go home, Norman. Get some rest," all eye contact was lost now. And, most likely, all respect. "Try to get in touch with reality again."

The director grunted. Norman leered. This discussion was over.

Forty-eight hours later and the officially off-duty agent found himself in Ethan Mars' apartment, staring at a painting that somehow seemed out of place. As he studied it, he felt the confusing stare from the single father on his back. Ethan had questions, and no doubt wanted answers to accompany them. Unfortunately, Norman didn't have a lot in the way of answers. He himself didn't know what possessed him to randomly turn up on his doorstep. But he still had to break the ice somehow, right?

"I think your painting is upside down," he said casually, indicating the mess of lines, colours and shapes. He turned his head back long enough to see Ethan shake his head in dismay.

"It's abstract. Is there something I can help you with, agent Jayden?" Ethan moved away from the security of the wall, walking towards the kitchen table. Norman flinched at the word 'agent'. "I doubt this is a social call."

Norman jammed his hands into his coat pockets again, fiddling uncomfortably. He left the presence of the questionable canvas and walked further into the apartment, taking note at the interior furnishings. Analyzing everything. That's all he could see. Data. Norman found himself drawn to the blank sketch book set up at a small studio, seating himself on the stool before it. He stared at the stark white paper for a time, sensing the impatience from Ethan. Absently, he began to tap out a silent rhythm on the paper.

What to say? What to say… the truth was probably a good place to start.

"I need a place to stay."

Ethan must have been drinking something because Norman heard the sound of indignant spluttering, followed by shallow coughs. Apparently, the statement had caught him off guard. He turned around on the stool and considered the father briefly, amusedly, watching as he wiped his sleeve across his mouth. He pressed his fingers together and waited expectantly for a reply.

"You want to stay _here_?" Ethan asked, a little disbelieving. Norman just nodded solemnly.

"I, uh… I don't really understand but… I-I guess so…" Ethan began carefully, propping his hands on the back of a table chair. A slight frown was creasing his brow, as if he was still processing the credibility of the request. "How'd you get this address, anyway?"

At that, Norman felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Ethan's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the innocent gesture and after a moment, he finally understood.

_Madison Paige._

All Norman had to do was make a phonecall. He was a little surprised that Madison had willingly given up the address without raising a finger of suspicion. Apparently, the journalist had long since decided that the single father needed a friend and that he, an equally secluded person, was none-the-wiser. He was still trying to figure out whether or not to be offended by that.

At first, he hadn't planned on intruding in on Mars' life, figuring he still had a lot on his plate to deal with. Cooped up in his apartment was driving him over the edge, however, his mind focusing solely on the case he had been excluded from. His badge had been confiscated, ARI had been taken from him… he had nothing left. He needed to get out. To leave Washington. To forget for a while.

"I needed a, um… break…" it wasn't the whole truth, but there was some semblance in there. "I'm overworked, figured I could use a vacation. Get my mind off things, you know."

"You leave on vacation and decide to come _here_, of all places?" Ethan said sceptically, still a little on edge. "I don't know whether to question your intelligence or doubt it. A fancy hotel could probably tend to your needs better than I, though."

"I'll take what you can offer."

"The couch," Ethan replied flatly. Sighing loudly, his startling blue eyes trailed from the agent to the wall clock, a soft curse released under his breath. "Look, mind if we walk and talk? If I don't leave now, I won't get to the school on time."

"Walk? It's raining outside…" Norman pointed out. The other man had just shrugged, moving towards the door with indifference. After taking a moment to ponder, Norman quickly followed.

Neither of them were about to say a little rain never hurt anybody.


	3. Chapter Three

Oh? What's that? DID I JUST SEE A PLOT DEVELOPMENT? No... probably not. Just a lame attempt. It's almost that magic hour in the morning again, and I realized I am very anti-climactic at such a time. Thanks to all reviewers, and readers as well. All of you keep me typing. (:

* * *

Cold. Completely, utterly, bitterly cold.

That was all that went through Ethan's mind as he stepped into the streets outside his apartment, agent Jayden in tow. The rain had been steadily falling for the last hour or so, not exactly heavy but enough to start flooding the paths and walkways. Coupled together with the sharp chill that clung to the air, everything was just so damn _cold_. It was all he could do to stop his teeth from chattering there and then.

Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that the agent was also shivering. Whether from the harsh temperature or something else entirely, he wasn't sure. Wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to keep warm, Ethan pressed forward at a quickened pace, determined to get to the school before the bell rung. Behind him, he heard Jayden's uneven footsteps as he tried to keep up.

Ethan was unwilling to slow down, however, his logic behind it being the faster he walked, the less saturated he would become. In truth, he just needed time, a few minutes even, to gather his thoughts on the current situation. Everything about the profiler's story reeked of dishonesty. But Jayden had never given him any reason to distrust him, so was there really any reason for concern?

_Plenty,_ Ethan decided.

Of all the places in all the world he could have chosen to take a vacation, Jayden chose here, which in itself was reason enough for suspicion. In a city where carrying around umbrellas was fast becoming a ritual and watching rats flail about helplessly in sewerage water was practically the national sport, this place wasn't exactly listed as a friendly, happy, sunshine state.

You'd have to be drunk or stupid to nominate this town as vacation savvy, and Ethan suspected agent Jayden was neither.

There was also the little detail about how he had gotten the address, something that had been nagging at him. At first, Ethan had just assumed he used his fancy computers and FBI files to dig it up. Jayden's smile, that I-know-something-you-don't smile had said otherwise, that the information had come from a different source. A source like Madison Paige, who had become a mutual acquaintance to both men throughout the Origami Killer ordeal.

Ethan had no doubts about that. The journalist was usually a good judge of character, and probably decided it to be a good idea if the two became better acquainted, seeing as they had all been put through the gauntlet the past month. Something about the thought annoyed him, but he ignored it for the time being.

_His presence is bordering on sinister,_ the father thought idly, the corner of his lips twitching. _Why can't I shake this feeling of unease?_

Reaching the end of the path, Ethan paused for barely a moment before darting across the street. The roads were mostly deserted, no doubt because of the dangerous driving conditions brought on by the rain.

"You know, I don't think there's any chance of a fire in this weather!"

He heard agent Jayden shout over the noise as a car rushed by, sending up a shower of water from the gutter. Ethan took care to avoid the artificial rain, which smelt horrible, looking back towards the other man. To say the least, he looked aweful. At the sight of him, Ethan relented the speed of steps, allowing for them to walk side-by-side.

"God _damn_. It's no wonder you avoided arrest so many times," Jayden murmured through his inhales, burying his hands in his coat pockets once again. "Course, that could also have something to do with the incompetency of a certain lieutenant. I mean, really? A whole squad of heavily armed law enforcers and a chopper and they _still_ couldn't bring you in? I'd have his credentials checked because someone, somewhere, has fucked up."

Ethan figured he was just rambling to himself and so decided to leave him be. He was more concerned for the agent's state of health at that moment than anything else. Agent Jayden appeared… ill? Ailing? The words eluded him at the moment, but there was definitely something wrong with the young agent. It could have been the rain making it hard for him to breathe, but Ethan severely doubted that

For now, he decided to keep his worries quiet. The rain was beginning to numb his face, his breathing becoming uneven. He just wanted to get out of the damned rain. Whose bright idea was it to walk, again?

Most of the walk had rushed by in a blur and relief finally sank in when the school gates came into view. The trees that loomed just inside the school branched overhead, towering over the large walls that bordered the premises, providing cover for those unlucky enough (or stupid enough) to be caught out in the foreboding weather. Out of harms way now, Ethan pushed away matted hair from his eyes, noting that most of the parents here were either in their car or under an umbrella.

Unsaturated.

"Don't you just love the rain?" Jayden asked suddenly, standing a couple steps away. His pale eyes were turned to the streets, carefully observing everything, taking in every detail. If he was just making idle conversation, he certainly could have picked a better topic.

"No… not really."

"_Exactly._ It's cold. It's wet. It's depressing. What the hell is there to like about it?" he grumbled, pushing his back up against the stone wall. "I'd like to arrest whoever thought up the idea that getting caught in the rain was romantic. There is _nothing_ romantic about catching pneumonia."

_Irritable,_ Ethan thought. _He seems irritable._ _His eyes are shadowed, dull, as if his mind isn't there at all. He's talking to keep himself focused on a certain point, as if the silence will lead him to a place he's trying to avoid. Hence the insistent chatter about the weather. When conversation falls short, always talk about the weather. Or complain about it. It's common ground._

Admittedly, Ethan wanted to know exactly why the famed agent was here, but the last thing he wanted to do was step into the role of interrogator. He had agreed to letting the young agent stay without so much as a question asked, and it would seem petulent to start now. Perhaps there was a way to go about it without being too obvious? Break the ice the same way agent Jayden had.

"One has to wonder why you came back, if you hate the rain so much."

"Could just be all the fond memories I have of this place."

"Really?"

"No, Ethan," Jayden fixed him with an incredulous look then. "Somewhere between getting my ass kicked on numerous occasions and the faulty coffee machines, I've managed to find the time to develop an unhealthy dislike of this washed out city."

Silence. Cold, bitter silence. Almost as cold as the rain.

"But…" He continued, tone noticably lighter. "It's not all bad, I guess. There are some decent people living here. For the sake of modesty, they won't be named."

Ethan almost felt guilty for doubting Jayden and his motives then. Fortunately, he was saved having to reply as the school bell rung, the noise slicing through the air and drowning out the rainfall for a moment. His attention moved from the brooding agent to the wrought-iron gates of the school, his eyes searching out his son amongst the crowd that was now filtering out the exit. Involuntarily, he took a step back.

"Nerves?" A casual observation from Jayden. Apparently, his movement hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Something like that," Ethan mumbled under his breath, folding his arms around himself again. He felt his head pound, black and white memories trying to resurface within his mind. He forced them down, determined not to let them get the better of him.

Because he was recovering. Honestly, he was. No repurcussions. Not today.

"Dad?"

Blinking, Ethan looked down to see that the crowds had thinned considerably and that Shaun was standing before him, wearing his one-size-too-big coat, backpack slung lazily over his shoulders. His head was tipped slightly, his eyes traveling past his father to the man leaning against the wall.

"Oh, uh… Shaun, you remember agent Jayden, don't you?" Blue eyes moving back and forth between the two, a dizzying gesture. Shaun stared morbidly up at the agent for a time, as if processing his appearance, much like Ethan had. He appeared hesitant, uncertain.

_What have I done?_ Ethan thought, panic rising in his stomach. _This is never going to work. The mere sight of him probably has Shaun wrestling with his demons. He's supposed to be taking two steps forward, not back! Why didn't I see this happening? How am I—_

"Yeah!" Shaun suddenly shouted cheerfully. There was a childish, sincere smile on his face as he walked up to Jayden, who appeared just as baffled by the small outburst. "Are you on some kind of top secret mission?"

"Something like that," Jayden remarked, looking at the single father pointedly.

"That's cool," Shaun replied, kicking one shoe against the ground. "Hey, Dad? Can we go home now? It's kinda cold…"

"Of course, son," Ethan said, ruffling the boy's hair. Laughing lightly, Shaun took off at an exaggerrated pace, jumping around pools of water that had gathered on the foot paths. Keeping his eyes on his small form, Ethan stepped out into the rain again and began to follow.

"He seems to be coping well," Jayden mused, turning up the collar of his jacket. His hands soon found their way back into the comfort and warmth of his pockets.

Ethan said nothing for a time, opting to let the pitter-patter of rain fill in the void. The apartment rooftops could be seen in the distance, a dark blemish against the pure grey clouds that littered the sky. The path curved to the left, and they were soon heading past the park, childish laughter echoing like a haunting song. The chorus offered a different sort of chill, something that sent a visible shiver down Ethan's spine. The sound had him mesmerized.

When he looked up, not having realized he had looked down at all, he saw that Shaun was a little too far up the street, almost out of sight. Almost out of shouting distance. The young boy was still hopping around puddles as Ethan broke into a jog.

"Shaun!" He called, a little franticly. "Shaun, _wait!_"

Ethan heard the revving of an engine and the screech of tires, but the sounds never processed clearly in his mind. He was focused solely on his son's form, oblivious to the world's surroundings. He never saw the beat-up old pick-up truck speeding towards the sidewalk, never allowed the impending danger to break through his conscience.

Shaun. He had to get to Shaun. That was all that mattered.

"_Ethan!"_

He vaguely remembered someone shouting as he soon found himself being tugged one way. And now he was falling, falling against the cold pavement, his shoulder bumping the stone ground at an odd angle and oh, something didn't feel right now… a light exploded somewhere in his head, dazzling his eyesight with an array of colours.

What was happening? It was all happening so fast, he couldn't keep up…

Haggard breathing soon reached his ears. Whether it was his own or someone else's, he couldn't tell. The sound of the accelerator, of a strained engine and tires struggling on wet tarmac soon followed, the sharp noise snapping him from his daze. When he raised his eyes, he saw the vehicle as it disappeared from his line of vision.

"Gah..." He managed to splutter. A sharp pain down his side prevented him from scrambling to his feet, to his son's side. All he could do was try to assess the situation, which proved difficult when you had absolutely no idea of what just happened, or what was now going on.

Upon closer realization, he noticed that he was the one breathing roughly. Shaun stood several feet away, form rigid and eyes like saucers. But he was okay, he was safe, if not a little shaken. There was a dull pain throbbing in his left shoulder, but it was minor in comparison to the thumping of his heartbeat against his ribcage. The world gradually returned to sharper focus, the myriad of colours disappearing. The nauseous feeling that had also been present was slowly vanishing, as well.

But he was still confused, disoriented. He felt that someone was kneeling beside him and turned to find agent Jayden, his shadowed eyes transfixed on the direction the vehicle had sped off in. His face was pale, ghostly… frozen in an unknown emotion. Something about the look made Ethan feel uneasy. He could feel himself turning cold all over.

And it wasn't because he was currently lying in a pool of rainwater.


	4. Chapter Four

:D

* * *

Norman had woken up the next morning to a leaden-grey sky and the aches and pains of a restless night's sleep on the couch. That a foreign object (he hoped it was a remote or something) continually needled the middle of his back all night probably added to his current state of discomfort. Now that he was mostly awake, though still decidedly heavy-headed, the suspended agent fished around down the side of the lounge, his hand eventually emerging victorious as he grasped what was indeed a dejected television remote. It looked old, forgotten; he promptly dropped it where he found it, moving to an upright position.

Silver light poured in through the uncovered windows, the blinds having not been drawn the previous night. It was bright and horribly early, the light piercing as the agent rubbed his eyes and squinted against the grey slate. He could feel his headache worsen and decided to wash his face, hoping it would wash away his fatigue, clear his mind.

The adjoining hallway connected via the living room housed a few doors on either side, two located on the left and right sides respectively and one further along at the base of the corridor. It wasn't cramped, and the floorboards felt distinctly cool and clean under Norman's bare feet, as if they had been mopped recently. His footsteps were non-existent as he passed by one, two of the doors, the second one being slightly ajar. No light passed through, but he assumed they were the bedrooms. Ethan and Shaun were most likely still asleep, curled up comfortably underneath heavy covers and soft beds. Just what time was it, anyway?

Norman managed to find the bathroom without much difficulty, flipping the light switch almost mechanically. The light that bathed the small enclosure reminded him of being in a hospital; it was exposing. _Slap, slap_ went his feet on the tiled floor as he moved toward the basin, sparing himself a lingering glance in the mirror.

"You look like death," A quiet murmur to himself, his eyebrows quirking down.

While it was true he had not had any decent rest since leaving Washington, which seemed like years ago, he expected to not look so… dishevelled. With hair out of place and eyes that drooped, on the verge of slamming shut and pallid skin that seemed to be losing its elasticity, he felt like a far-cry to his old suit-wearing, smooth-talking, crime-stopping self.

Perhaps the director was right. Maybe he had gotten a little too out of touch with reality, becoming co-dependant on his work ethic and, most of all, ARI.

And _that._

"No, no, come on Norman," The disarrayed ex-agent breathed, pale hands gripping the edge of the sink. He had to be given some credit for holding his steady gaze for as long as he did. "You're an agent, through and through; you're still good at what you do, toys or no toys. You can do this…"

_Inhale, exhale. _

Focussing as much as he could in his current state, Norman began to examine his surroundings with those clear eyes, scanning, analysing every minute detail. Admittedly this was a lot easier with ARI, and he found himself feeling a little lacklustre compared to the device. But it was his eyes that found the evidence; it was his knowledge that pieced it all together. ARI would be _nothing_ without _him_, not the other way around.

Oh, how he wished he believed that.

"Bathroom is meticulously clean; faint scent of pine still lingers in the air, no traces of dust or fingerprints visible on the ceramics; toothbrush containers located on the bathroom counter. Occupant might suffer from some sort of obsessive compulsion, or have a mild case of mysophobia" Upon further inspection, he noted the three cases. "Two adult sized brushes, perhaps a little 'his and her' action going on?"

There, _see_, he could do this.

It was just like the old days, when he was first recruited to the FBI. No one had thought much of the young agent then, but after finding countless leads and breakthroughs on multiple cases he had started to leave quite the impression. He had been young, intuitive, fresh and sharp; promising foundations though they were, they attracted attention from both sides of the spectrum. It was these qualities in mind that automatically nominated him as a guinea pig to test run the latest technology that came through his sector. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it was because everyone had high hopes for him, or because they really wanted him to fall under the bus.

Startled by something unknown, ex-agent Jayden looked sharply at his reflection. He started to feel… odd. As if all the air had been sucked out of him, like a vacuum. A cold sweat had broken out across his brow, and he could feel his hands clamming up; the tighter he gripped the ceramic basin, the more his fingers began to tremble. Dizzy, he felt dizzy, he needed to sit down. Squinting hard as he backed away from the mirror, vision distorted beyond belief, he could have sworn that his reflection had been laughing at him; smirking, claiming victory, a sense of mirthful delight behind those methane eyes.

A gurgling sound began to fill his ears and Norman was surprised when he realized it was himself, a deep, growling sound rolling out from somewhere in his throat. Knees gave way beneath what felt like dead weight, and the dark-haired man found himself cowering back against the bathtub, the tiles cool and smooth under his feet. _Stop it, stop it, stop it, go away, need to focus…_

Palms sweaty, itching, his eyes darted around for something, anything, to lock with; he suddenly spotted the toothbrush cases again; this time the smallest one on the counter. Instinctively or out of old habit, Norman reached up and pressed two fingers to the side of his face. "ARI… Comment…" Steady now, breathe, breathe, and _breathe_. "Evidence a… child dwells in the residence… Age differs, though possibly somewhere between ten and… fifteen…"

_I can't do this._

And he found himself reaching for his pocket…

"Mister Jay?"

Wide-eyed and innocent, little Shaun Mars didn't seem so little as he stood in the threshold to the bathroom, staring peculiarly at what probably looked like the pathetic, crumpled remains of a man. The kid looked bedraggled and worn; his hair and pyjamas had certainly seen better mornings. Norman felt a twinge of guilt then, feeling as if he was the one who had roused the boy from sleep at… really now, what time _was_ it?

"Mornin', kid," Norman managed, the corner of his mouth quirking into a quick smile. He was still sweating and his chest felt like it was about to cave in, but hey, at least his hands had stopped shaking. It was a shame to be caught in such a state, though. Not something a kid needs to see first thing in the morning.

"Are you alright, Mister Jay?" Shaun asked sleepily, rubbing at one eye with his sleeve.

The kid had taken to calling him 'Mister Jay' only the previous night because, as he had put it, he was a 'mister' and his last name was Jayden. Norman, however, thought that Shaun had become a little too invested in some superhero comics, arguing that he was the type of person who arrested people like Mister Jay. Shaun was defiant and told Norman that that wasn't true, because he wasn't Batman.

Couldn't argue with that logic.

"Y… Yeah, Shaun, I'm alright. Had a rough night sleeping is all."

Shaun seemed to nod sagely at that and crossed the room, his footsteps ever so silent. He reached his smaller hand up and retrieved a cup from the bathroom counter and held it under the cold water tap, turning it and waiting for the glass to fill. It was the only sound to fill the small room, a welcome distraction as well as just the presence of another human, but the stream of silence does become too much after a while.

"Did you have nightmares?"

Blinking, Norman had to look the kid directly in the face to gauge the thought process behind those pure eyes. Even the most seasoned profiler might have had a tough time cracking this nut, as Shaun had mastered the art of veiling his entire emotional range when it suited him. Understandable, of course…

"Nightmares?"

Having his badge confiscated, ARI removed from his possession, knowing a murderer was out there somewhere and he had botched his chances to aid the in the investigation…

"S'pose you could say that," Norman nodded, more so to himself. It wasn't every day he found himself in a psychoanalyst-type scenario with a kid two decades his junior. The kid did have that wisdom about him, an air of absolute quiet and understanding that belied everything a child is supposed to be. It was depressing, really.

"Don't worry," Shaun said quietly, offering him the glass of water. Despite everything that had happened, was happening or was about to happen, Shaun was smiling, however faint. Norman felt a stab in his heart as he accepted the offer. "They can't hurt you."

Norman gripped the cup with steady hands and watched silently as Shaun retreated from the bathroom, his line of sight slowly dipping down. He stared at the clear water for the longest time, swimming around in the puddle of thoughts in his head.

All he was certain of was the scent of pine.

The morning became a little more hectic when Ethan realized he had overslept. It would have been a lie to say the sight of the single father bouncing from area to area of the house trying to pull on trousers and a sweater while balancing toast in his mouth and rolled up cardboard under his arms was not amusing. It was a miracle he did not end up chewing on the floor instead. His son was definitely the more organized of the two, with his school bag packed and breakfast eaten, his clothes on the correct way. The only time Norman could tell they were related was when they were sitting quietly, side by side.

Feeling decidedly commonplace after being lent a few articles of clothing from Ethan's wardrobe, Norman followed the older man out the front door after he checked twice to make sure his shoes were on the right foot. He still had absolutely no idea what time it was but by this point, it seemed irrelevant. Ethan had to drop Shaun at school and then turn up for work before 9:00am. He had enlisted the help of the former agent in bringing in his supplies and workloads to the office, distrusting the weather.

Really, the man was a walking weather forecast. Rain seemed to follow him.

Norman had agreed to help. It seemed only fair as the father had offered him shelter on such short notice, provided him with food and lent him clothes; Jayden had only packed two things with him in his haste to leave Washington, along with the clothes on his back. However, he did point out that he deserved some slack after Ethan had abandoned him to little old Edna Baker, who lived on the first floor of the apartment complex.

She was sweet, really, she was, but there was a line between _too much_ ginger.

"I don't think I'll ever stop smelling like an oversized gingerbread man," The ex-agent grumbled in the passenger seat, decidedly still sour over the whole event. Beside him, Ethan was keeping his eyes on the road as they drove away from Shaun's school, heading east along the main road. The twists and turns of the city felt all too familiar.

"Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?" The father asked; flicking on his left indicator as the car rolled to a stop at a set of lights, only to have them flash green just as soon.

"No."

The buildings seemed to get taller the further they travelled into the small city, mostly apartments or the occasional offbeat boutique and café littered here and there. The foreboding skies seemed to have chased away all forms of life in doors or under shelter, parked cars being almost the only noticeable thing on otherwise deserted streets. It could still be early, but Norman still really did not know, or care.

There wasn't much to talk about on this cold morning. Weather was always a taboo subject and the city offered a less than stellar variety of subjects. The pair did not bother to discuss the previous day's encounter, even though something about it was still gnawing away at Norman's subconscious. But he wasn't an agent anymore; he had to let his instincts go. Even if the road hadn't been entirely too slick or that there had been a large enough berth between the sidewalk and road that the driver could have easily manoeuvred his truck away from civilians…

"Why's it so empty?" He asked suddenly, if just to staunch the flow of silence, and put an end to his wild theories.

"Most of the buildings along the avenues are under construction; major renovations or being torn down, things of that liking. It's quite a big city-wide project. Presumably to attract more, uh, people, I guess…"

"Can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to live here… I think the colour of rust really brings out its glamorous side."

When asked about his current residence, Ethan had said, in a rather flustered manner, that the home he shared with Madison Paige had flooded somehow and the floors had to be torn up and replaced, along with a few other modifications. His home right now was only temporary, but gave both Ethan and Madison sufficient time to get back into their former groove, so to speak.

This also explained why Ethan was able to land a steady job amongst all the infamy and media attention surrounding him. Amongst a sea of architects and paperwork, he was just another face, just another worker looking to get the job done and getting his pay cheque. Norman almost envied the fact that Ethan Mars' life had returned to a moderate state of… normality. He even had a woman under his wing.

Norman was baffled to find the car was in park the next time he looked up; the journey had been significantly shorter than first thought. Other parked vehicles surrounded them and an office building lay not far beyond, situated in a more rural part of the city. It was easier to see the skyline now, a cluster of tall, red-brick buildings that lurched beneath a palette of monochromes. He counted several tones of grey as the hidden sun tried to bleed through the mass of clouds.

Ethan was leaning over into the back seat, scrambling to collect his suitcase, larger tools that would not fit into it and the projects themselves. Norman soon found a flurry of rolled up cardboard thrust into his arms. He had to juggle them carefully so that he was able to see the world in front of him and not bend or creases any of Ethan's hard work. It was a great effort in itself as he staggered out of the passenger-side door and was able to lock and close it, without dropping anything.

The air outside of the vehicle was crisp and cool, and didn't smell nauseatingly like pine. Or ginger, for that matter, something that still begrudgingly clung to him, however faint it seemed. The two men began the slow, arduous journey across the car park, taking care not to land in any shallow looking puddles that were secretly three-feet deep. It was like running an obstacle course, something Jayden was all too familiar with, as they swivelled and swerved between the cars.

This was Norman's first official day as a civilian; today he was normal. Normal Norman. And he had to keep it that way.

Even if his palms were beginning to itch again.

"You must have worked hard," He began talking once more, indicating the mass of designs in his arms. "Why so many?"

A pause.

"They're blank."

… What?

"I think we should switch." Norman said with a heavy frown, prompting Mars to look back at him over his shoulder.

"You seem to be doing fine."

"I look like you. I don't want to look like you when your boss decides your head would look better on a canvas than structural designs. And this sweater itches. Is it really necessary?"

"You're just a bundle of complaints," Ethan laughed, not feeling at all remorseful for the younger man. "I'm not entirely unfortunate looking, is it so bad being me?"

"Ethan," Norman began with an indignant huff, eyes planted firmly on their destination. "You are the last person I'd want to be right now."


End file.
